


The Devil & Sabre

by epiclucy



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And violence, Angry Frank Castle, Angst, Daredevil (TV) Spoilers, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Military Backstory, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, OC is a bamf, OC is a vigilante, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Punisher (TV 2017) Spoilers, Violence, and a dumbass, and a smartass, and she can kick your ass, or an anti hero, srsly my mans is mad, there's a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiclucy/pseuds/epiclucy
Summary: When Matt caught the scent of soft leather and rain-scented cologne, he froze at the doorframe. It smelled like her - the woman from the rooftop. The woman that was with Frank Castle."Hey, fellas," she greeted. Matt didn't have to see to know she was grinning. "You're late."___Labelled as Sabre by the media, Rosario Walsh is known for her partnership with the Punisher. As they look for revenge against their mutual enemy, a certain little Devil gets in their way.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. 1

"Jesus, this tastes like shit," Ros muttered, wincing as she took a sip from her flask. Fucking nasty ass coffee.

"At least it's caffeinated shit," Frank mumbled back, screwing his own up before setting it on the ground with a soft clink. She swore he had absolutely no taste-buds. "It's gonna be a long night. Need the energy."

"It's four in the fucking morning, Frank." Ros rolled her eyes and thunked her head back against the brick wall. And neither of us have slept for two days. "Couldn't bring any liquor? I'm more than happy to run for a quick shop, you know."

The glower in Frank's dark eyes made her hold up her hands in defence. _Boring_.

Ros stood up at the aching in her legs and stretched them, arching her back to crack it as she stared down the side of the building.

It was pitch black outside - not a single star in sight with the ugly orange street lights towering over the building. Ros had a long coat wrapped around her body, flapping around her legs where she stood with her hands in her pockets. Her skin ran hot but even the nippy air of New York City made her a little chilly.

Her eyes shifted to the unconscious man tied with a chain around his waist, and promptly narrowed. _The Devil of Hell's Kitchen_ , Frank kindly let her know as if she wasn't aware of the infamous vigilante. Frank had gone off on his own to kill Grotto - what should've been an easy mission - but the bastard in red got in the way along with a bunch of police. He fought the Devil and won.

Frank was quick to call Ros when shit went sideways and, like a pot of gold on the end of a rainbow, she ran into Grotto trying to steal a car to get away. He pleaded with her upon recognising her and she laughed before bashing his head against the car.

Ros' attention was quickly directed back to Frank when he huffed.

"If I knew Red was gonna get involved I would'a left you outta this," the man gruffly admitted.

"Oh, fuck off." Ros shook her head, a crease forming between her brows. "I'm just as deep in this as you. You think some dressed-up dick is gonna scare me off?"

"He's gonna come after us," he pointed out. "Probably knows who we are now. What we're after. Ain't gonna let killers out of his city that easy."

"Sounds fun." Ros closed her eyes and smiled softly. "About time I had a challenge."

Frank chuckled roughly. "Asshole."

"Just for you, baby." She winked, to which he laughed.

Although they kind of hated each other at the beginning, the two slowly learned to get along. Frank was calculated but a dumbass, whereas Ros was smart but impulsive. It was cause for a lot of arguments, and arguments between them often ended up in near-violence. One day after Ros was nearly kidnapped by a member of the Kitchen Irish the two got into a heated argument, to put it lightly. He talked shit, she decked him, he decked her back, and they fought it out.

When all was said and done, they both ended up with cracked ribs and bust lips. As it turned out, it was exactly what they needed to finally get along. Frank got out a bottle of Whiskey and two dirty glasses and they drank and talked until they passed out. That was months ago now.

"Something on your mind?" Frank asked. Ros didn't realise she was staring at the man.

"Thinking about your ugly-ass nose," she responded. "I could probably break it to look normal again, you know."

The rattling of chains stopped him from retorting. Ros looked over to the man dressed in red and saw he was in the throes of waking up, attempting to move his restricted arms. He grunted, attempted to push himself forward and slammed his head back against the brick post with a gasp.

With a short glance towards their captive, Frank grabbed his flask, unscrewed it and took a sip. "Morning, sunshine," he grumbled. He shot a look towards Ros and inclined his head towards the door.

She saluted and made her way to the exit without a word.

* * *

It only took several minutes to do a full survey of the surrounding blocks. She kept her head level and body casual as she passed by a dozen or so officers checking the area, and thankfully none of them took notice of her. They didn't show any interest in the building Frank was perched upon with Devil-boy, all investigating where shots were actually fired a few blocks away.

The Devil was awake and breathing raggedly when she returned, his fists clenched and head lowered to stare at the ground. Frank was stood, leaning against a crate with his body pointedly turned away from their captive.

"What's poppin'?" she greeted. Frank's forearm was bare and he was swiping furiously at his wound. "It's bleeding again?"

Frank grunted. His way of saying _yes_.

"Maybe you should let me look at it," she suggested lightly.

He stared at her blankly and she took the hint, stepping away with her arms crossed.

A few minutes went by in silence. Ros carefully listened to the hitched breathing of Frank as he re-stitched his arm, the splatter of water when he cleaned his wound and the tension of his shoulders with the pain. He used some old, dirty-looking gauze to wrap his arm.

"So, Devil," Ros began, spinning around to acknowledge the man in red. "What's got you so interested in the Kitchen Irish, anyway? Thought you were staying off-the-radar after fucking up Wilson Fisk. Punisher and I aren't exactly, uh... Subtle. Are we, P-Man?" She slapped Frank on the arm with a grin. He didn't return the expression.

The man in red's raspy voice spoke up. "Why didn't you take my mask off?" he asked. "Why am I still alive?"

"Don't give a shit about who you are," Frank grunted in response, tying off the final stitch with his teeth. He was right - neither her or Frank were there for Daredevil. If they were he'd be a dead splash of red on the rooftop.

"I got in your way twice now," Daredevil pointed out. He had a smug curled lip. "You don't strike me as someone who just lets that happen."

"Don't sound too arrogant," Ros said. "We're not the ones tied on the roof of a 3-star café. Or with a cracked head..." She frowned. "Did you shoot him in the head?" she directed at Frank.

"Got in my way," Frank retorted. Ros rolled her eyes.

"If you finished the job, you'd be a fucking hero around here," she said. "No more Daredevil."

"And that'd make you Sabre, right?" Daredevil asked, wetting his cracked lips. He gestured to what Ros could only assume was towards the blades on each of her thighs.

Ros shrugged. "They're machetes," she let him know.

He ignored her comment. "You're partnered with him," he nodded to Frank, "for how long now? Months? Maybe years? You're both well-hidden, hard to find any information about."

"Been doing your research, huh," Ros commented. "Bet you've been red in the face trying to figure us out, Devil." Their files were meticulously wiped after their deaths. No one, not even them knew what were on those files or what they were really involved with.

"Ros," Frank spoke. She looked over as he held his hand out expectantly. On any other day she would've reprimanded him for his shitty manners, but he didn't seem to be in the mood for jests.

She slid her machete out of her thigh holster and flipped it so she was holding the blade, pointing the grip towards Frank. He nodded in thanks as he gripped the weapon, squatting down next to a large crate of weapons. He grunted as he pried the top off, the wood creaking uncomfortably.

"Military grade hardware," Daredevil observed. He had his head tilted like he was listening closely. "You seem to know your way around it. You both sure carry yourselves like soldiers." Ros glanced at Frank and saw he was pointedly ignoring the other man. "You were partners, right? Snipers? It would explain your aim, though I'm not too sure about yours." She couldn't see his eyes under the red mask but she presumed he was looking at her.

He got no response; only a shrug from Ros and an exhale from Frank as he lifted two of the ammunition boxes, as well as a good-looking rifle. "Get your shit," he told Ros. He moved away to the edge of roof.

The woman was quick to rummage through their nice little collection of weaponry. Frank was the best sniper Ros had ever known, something Daredevil got right, and while she was a good sniper, she was far better at close-range. The rifle he got was A-grade, similar to the one he used in the forces. Good precision, better damage.

So, with a beaming smile, she took a Browning pistol equipped with a silencer and tucked the beauty in the back of her pants. The Irish were assholes but goddamn did they have a good stash.

"What are you gonna do with all this?" the Devil asked.

"We'll do what's required," Frank answered vaguely.

"So this is another one of your missions?" he pushed. "That's why we're here, right? It's why you dragged her here."

"Didn't drag me to do shit," Ros threw over her shoulder. "You're very presumptuous."

"How many will this make?" Daredevil continued, clearly aiming for Frank to spill. "I'm guessing you've done this, what? Ten, maybe twenty times?"

Frank picked up his flask, twisted it open, sniffed it and flung the remaining liquid to the side. She narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head, to which he ignored. _At least it's caffeinated shit_ , my ass.

"How long's it been now? Six months, a year... Your whole life? Something tells me you don't take breaks." Daredevil huffed a breath. "No one else has to die. You could stop now, walk away - both of you. You can hide again like you did before."

There was a beat of silence. Ros could feel the tension radiating off Frank and she was sure Daredevil could feel it too. "Walk away?" Frank repeated, leaning forward to address him. "Could you do that, walk away?" At the lack of response, he muttered the affirmation under his breath, "Yeah."

Ros glanced to the man, could see him close his eyes and lean back against the wall surrounding the roof. A bottle of Whiskey and a bag of pretzels would make the night, Ros thought. If only it was just her and Frank without threats constantly looming over them. They needed a break. They deserved a damn break.

She walked past the Devil, saw his head move with her as she approached a smaller crate labelled HE-G40.

"Hey, Big-P," Ros called to Frank. Her voice was loud in the silent bitter night. "Machete, please? Just found myself some new babies and I don't wanna blunt my other firstborn."

Frank gave her his best _seriously?_ look but tossed the blade to her nonetheless, handle first. She smoothly caught it and began prying the wood open. It popped off and fell to the floor with a thud.

A nice collection of grenades resided within the box, all neatly lined up, with a couple of belts on top.

Just as she began stuffing the grenades in the slots, distant church bells began ringing. This made the Devil perk.

"What is that, midnight?" he asked.

"St. Matthews," Frank, to her surprise, responded, though he kept his eyes shut.

"You a Catholic?"

"Once," he answered.

"From New York?"

"Once." It didn't entirely surprise Ros. Almost everyone in their squad had some kind of religious symbol on their body and Frank was no different. He used to have a beaded cross necklace under his dog tags. She couldn't recall when it left or where it could've ended up, but she knew it was no longer part of his life.

Daredevil chuckled softly. "You still go to Mass?"

Frank's eyes opened, staring ahead. His jaw clenched. "Stop now, Red."

"Stop?"

"Stop digging."

Daredevil looked amused, the corner of his lip crooked into a smirk. "Ah." His tongue darted out and licked the blood from his lip. "You know, a funny thing about New York, few people are actually from here. The ones who are, they don't leave - they can't. They feel like the city's a part of them, you know? Until one day... Something changes. Maybe they get older and then they have to leave, they have to get out. See the world. Maybe they enlist." Silence. Ros halted. "Where'd they send you?"

Frank smiled, and not in amusement. "You a shrink, Red?" Daredevil looked away with a tight lip. "Now come on, you must be something when you're not wearing the long johns, right?"

Ros smirked to herself as she removed her coat, strapping the grenade belt to her body.

Daredevil shook his head. "I'm just a guy." Ros almost laughed.

"Yeah?" Frank asked. "You ever been to war?"

"No."

"Yeah," he grunted. "Then don't talk about it."

There was a blissful few minutes of silence when the Devil got the hint to shut up. Ros resealed the crate as best as she could and picked up her machete, holding it up to the light. The shine of the blade was dull, the edges slightly ragged with its recent use. There wasn't any special equipment she could use to sharpen it, only different grades of sandpaper very kindly bought by Frank when she kept complaining about having to use his shitty excuse for a knife to do the job.

She slid the weapon back into its holster and picked up her flask. It was nasty but hey, caffeinated shit. Even if Frank tossed his away, the hypocrite.

"What about you?" Daredevil addressed Ros. "Do you believe in a god?"

The woman shrugged. "Used to go to church when I was real young. Wasn't my calling," she said. "You want me to confess my sins, Devil? We could be here all day. I bet you could, too, with all the people you've put in the hospital."

"I don't kill."

Ros settled on the crate of grenades and leaned forward on her knees. "You think beating up some thugs is gonna do shit? Think you're some kind of hero, Devil?" She chuckled lowly. "You put them in a hospital and then they're in debt. Then they're back in the streets. How do you think they're gonna get the money for that? Yeah..." She shook her head. "They're only a little more hurt with a little less money. Think they can get away with the shit they do with only a few broken bones."

"That doesn't mean they deserve to die."

"We only kill the people that deserve it, we do it out of necessity. You should want the Irish dead just as much as we do, Devil. They've gotten away with too much."

Daredevil let out a breathy laugh like he just came to a realisation. "Everybody's lost someone they loved," Daredevil said. "That doesn't mean you have to do this."

Frank was quick to interject. "Loss doesn't work the same for everybody, Red. We don't get to pick the shit that fixes us, makes us whole. Makes us feel purpose." He shook his head with a sniff. "What kind of name is _The Devil of Hell's Kitchen_ , anyway?" Daredevil's head snapped to him as Ros snorted. "I mean, really?"

"I didn't ask for that name."

Frank scoffed. "Don't see you running from it."

"I don't do this to hurt people. I don't kill."

Ros huffed a laugh. "That's it, huh?" she said. "You really believe you're better than us, don't you, Devil?"

"It doesn't matter what I think or what I am," the vigilante argued. "It's not our call who lives and dies."

"You know what I think, hero?" Frank spat. He pushed himself off the ground and walked to the bound man.

"Careful," Ros warned the man.

"I think you're a half-measure," he continued, kneeling a foot away from the other man's splayed legs. "I think you're a man who can't finish the job. I think you're a coward. You don't see that you're one bad day from being us."

Daredevil's lip curled. "Yeah-" He stopped abruptly, his head twitching to the side. "Someone's coming."

Frank set his eyes on Ros. She nodded without a word, standing to remove her holsters and set them on the crate.

"Hey," Daredevil said, "hey, don't hurt him."

She gave him a hard stare. "No promises, Devil."

A older man's raspy voice called from behind the door. "What's all the noise? If it's you damned kids again I swear I'm calling the cops!"

"Make sure he doesn't try anything," Ros hissed to Frank over her shoulder. "Not a fucking sound."

She jogged to the end of the roof as the door creaked open.

"Hello?" the man continued. Ros stepped into view, holding her hand up to block the torch's light. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Rosario," she greeted, softening her features. The light was lowered. "I'm up here with my husband, Frank." He glanced to her hands and she was suddenly glad she was wearing gloves. No husband, no ring. "I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't realise we were making a ruckus - we just wanted some peace and quiet."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Never seen you around."

"We're visiting an old friend from the forces," she clarified with ease. "He couldn't make it to the wedding a couple of months ago and wanted to congratulate us in person."

He hummed. "Anthony in 3B?"

Ros laughed airily. "I see you've had the pleasure."

"Nice young man," he confirmed with a nod. "It's nice to see has some friends, even if they're not from around here." Ros' smile tensed when the jangle of chains sounded. The man frowned. "What was that?"

"Sorry, that must be Frank," she said, relaxing her smile. "He's probably wondering where I got off too."

Just on time, an arm loosely wrapped around her waist. "Sorry about all the noise," Frank said with a gentle grin. Ros slipped her hand to his back, fingers grazing his pistol. She switched the safety off, hoping the vigilante could hear the click. _Better stay quiet, Devil._ "Hard to find somewhere this quiet in New York."

The old man appeared to believe them. "Ain't that the truth," he muttered before giving them a one-over. "You said you were with the forces?" He crossed his arms. "I served in 'nam, 3rd Marine Division."

"Fighting 3rd, huh?" Frank chuckled.

"Goddamn right. And you?"

"Iraq, Afghanistan," Frank answered vaguely. His hand briefly squeezed Ros' hip. "It's where I first met this one."

The old man smiled kindly, taking a step back. "Well, welcome home, the both of you."

Ros nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"I gotta go down right now, but you... you two stay here as long as you want." He turned back down the stairwell, not before giving them a little wave. They watched him until he disappeared and they couldn't hear his feet against metal.

Ros removed herself from Frank and kicked the door closed behind her. He glared at her. "Had to turn the safety off when it's pointed at my ass?"

"You're the one that was snuggling up to me." Ros shrugged. "We need to get a move on. Don't know if he's gonna go tattling." She nodded to the cuts and grazes on his face.

Frank nodded in agreement and moved to the stack of crates; Ros doing the same to rummage for any extras they could use. She began stuffing ammunition in her coat pockets.

"Rosaria and Frank? Those your names?" Daredevil asked. Ros couldn't help but wince - no one had used her full name in a long time. She hated it. "You get off on threatening people?"

"If you just fucking kept still he wouldn't have been in any danger," the woman countered, strapping her holsters back onto her thighs.

"You were ready to shoot him. You pulled the safety off!"

Frank threw something heavy back in the box, clearly pissed as he stood once again. "Listen carefully, okay?" He pulled his gun from the back of his jeans and paced towards the captive. "You listening?" The distinct cock of the gun echoed across the rooftop as Frank pressed it against Daredevil's head. "You feel that?"

"Christ, Frank!" Ros exclaimed in exasperation, grabbing his arm and pushing it away from its place on the broken mask. She stood close to him, blocking him from the Devil's sight. She was damn glad they stood close to the same height. "We're not here to fuck around."

"Oh, yeah?" Frank chuckled in mirth. "Weren't you the one telling I should've killed him earlier?"

Ros stared into his carefully blank eyes, unflinching. For a man with such a temper, he sure knew how to switch his emotions off at a moment's notice. "We have a mission," she said quietly, even if the Devil could still hear her. "We can't afford distractions like the one behind me. Kill him for all I fucking care but wait until we can get out this city, okay?" She exhaled. "He's an asshole but he's the least of our problems right now."

Frank was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling harshly as he tried to control his temper. "We're doing the right thing," was all he could muster.

Ros' eyes fluttered shut in annoyance at Daredevil's grating voice. "You think you're good people?" he bit out. "You wanna explain that to the orphans and widows of the men you've killed."

The woman was quick to grab Frank's upper arm when he moved to lunge past her. His mouth turned into a snarl and he shoved himself away, turning to the boxes once again.

"That's what you think?" Frank muttered, lips set in a tight line. "That we're going around unloading on any asshole we want to."

"That's exactly what I think," Daredevil said. "You think you're anything else?"

Frank shook his head, snarling. "I think that the people we kill need killing, that's what I think."

"You left men hanging on meat hooks."

"They got off easy," Frank argued.

"You shot up a hospital!"

"Yeah, and nobody got hurt who didn't deserve it."

"Oh, yeah, and what about you, Frank?" Daredevil asked. "What happens the day someone decides you deserve it?"

"I'll tell you what, they better not miss."

"And what about Rosaria, huh? What happens when someone decides that she deserves it?"

There was a hard silence. Ros flickered her eyes to the Devil. The smug look was back on his face.

"Then they better take me with her," Frank growled.

Ros felt her heart clench at his words. Still, she had to keep her head on straight and address the men. "Are you two done now?" she asked. "Seriously, feel free to drop by and tell us how bad we are at another time, Devil. Frank," she set her eyes on the man, "we need-"

A pinging from Ros' back pocket forced the three into silence. She checked her phone.

"Security alert," she hurriedly told Frank. "I think the Irish found our little hideout."

"Take the car," Frank told her. "I'll be there soon."

Ros paused her step and looked at her partner. "No fucking around, Frank," she said firmly. "Remember what I said." She spun around without waiting for an answer. At the end of the day, she trusted Frank. She knew he was more dedicated to the mission that she could ever be. He wouldn't kill Daredevil unless he absolutely had to - they couldn't risk more attention and he knew that.

Little did she know, the Devil on the roof would become a bigger character in her story than she ever thought.


	2. 2

Sat behind a fallen billboard opposite their hideout, Ros watched on her phone as four of the Irish wrecked their place, searching for information they sure as hell weren't gonna get. They were being a little dramatic about it, throwing sheets off their cots and flinging all the drawers out of their desks. The place was empty, anyway. The most they could do was set a trap.

Lucky for them, her and Frank were smarter than that.

She shut the car door shut behind her and unholstered her machetes, swinging them around in her grasp with a small smile. She kicked open the front door and was immediately met with two men.

"It's her!" one of them yelled.

One of them ran at her and she ducked the blow, spinning to slice through the man's shin. He yelled in pain and dropped to his hands and knees. Now behind him, she impaled her blade in the back of his head just as the other got to her. The man went to punch her but she deftly ducked, managing to get him in his groin in the process. She cut his femoral artery and stabbed him in the stomach, splitting his body up to his chest.

A spray of blood hit her face. She flinched at the bitter metallic taste and sighed.

Two more men ran in, this time with guns, and Ros was fast to duck behind the kitchen island but not before a bullet grazed her arm. She unzipped her coat and took a grenade out of the belt across her chest, pulling the pin and tossing it behind her.

" _Look out-!_ "

Ros pushed herself to her feet and threw the blade, watching as it flew through the air in a neat spin. It landed in the throat of one of the men, almost decapitating him. One again, she ducked behind the counter just as the grenade went off with a loud bang.

Momentarily deafened, Ros groaned at the ringing in her ears and stumbled to her feet. The other man was twitching on the ground, mouth slack and gasping. She pulled her silenced pistol out of her jeans and shot him in the head.

With a wince at her gunshot wound - luckily only a graze on her upper arm - she grabbed a cloth from the side and wiped as much blood as she could from her face. She got out her phone to text Frank.

_**Ros:** 4 irish bastards found our place, probs called their boss so we going for plan b_

_**Ros:** gonna leave the bodies, let the irish find them._

_**Ros:** hows d man?_

Without a doubt the Irish would be on their way as she typed, so she began the fun process of packing. Both her and Frank were overly-cautious so their stuff was mostly in bags anyway.

Her phone pinged.

_**Frank:** He's unconscious. Where's Grotto?_

_**Ros:** dont kill him frank i stg_

_**Ros:** grottos in the back of the pizza truck, zonked out. he kept crying so have fun_

_**Frank:** I'll be an hour._

_**Ros:** see u soon bby. cba to save ur ass again so dont let yourself get killed xx_

_**Ros:** text me in an hour, ill meet u at plan b :)_

* * *

A good hour later, Ros was settled in the basement of their Plan B, legs flung on top of a dusty desk as she watched the news. They were talking about Daredevil of course, and the shots that were fired. Debating if he was working with Punisher and Sabre since there were reports of Frank being spotted on the scene. No names or mentions of the Irish, thank goodness. She hated the them but they were sneaky at least, good at disguising themselves.

Luckily the bullet had only grazed her - not deep enough to be deadly but it could still become infected. She pulled off the layers of her clothes on arrival and shoved them in the bathtub for Frank to clean later, leaving her in a sports bra. She cleaned the wound as best she could and wrapped it with a bandage. It bled through and Ros knew Frank would have to do stitches for her.

Scars littered her body, just as they did Frank's. Stab wounds, gunshots, burns, even a few surgeries - she had a nice collection. There were a couple on her face and neck but none noticeable, all faded to thin white lines unlike the ones that turned purple in the cold across her body. At least she'd have a new one to add to her ever-expanding array.

The Whiskey in her grasp was becoming warmer by the minute, the burn as it went down her throat getting worse. It was a nice burn. Not pleasant but she preferred it that way.

Her phone, upturned on the desk, pinged.

_**Frank:** Grotto's dead._

Ros rolled her eyes and held back a sigh. Ever the conversationalist.

_**Ros:** good to know. u coming back now?_

_**Frank:** I'll be 20 minutes._

_**Ros:** cool_

Frank predictably left her on read. He didn't like texting unless he had to, especially when they were doing their own things. He preferred calling but it was easier to be subtle through messages, plus it was quicker.

Twenty minutes later, as promised, Frank arrived looking far more beaten-up than he did when she left. Bruises were already forming on his face and no doubt his body too, in the beginnings of turning an ugly purple. They were partially hidden by the dried blood that coated his skin.

"Fucking hell, Frank," Ros said disapprovingly, narrowed eyes flickering over his form. He walked to the bed with a limp.

"M'good," he grumbled as Ros moved to the grotty bathroom to grab the first-aid kit she just used on herself. When she returned, Frank had a grimace on his face as he removed his shirt from his body, sat on the edge of the bed. "Said I'm fine."

"Clearly," she said blankly. "I thought you had it, you complete moron. Why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

"You told me not to tell you."

Ros would've thrown her hands up in exasperation if she wasn't ripping open an alcohol wipe sachet. "When has that ever stopped you? How fucking old are you?" She shook her head, dabbing _maybe_ a little too hard on the grazes on his face. "How is it when I'm hurt and don't say shit, I'm the biggest dumbass in the universe? God, you fucking men. I hate you stupid men. You're so... ugh, _stupid!_ "

"Thought you wanted me to explain what happened."

"Smartass. Go on then, enlighten me."

So he explained. Explained how he knocked out Daredevil not too long after Ros left and then got Grotto. Taped a gun to the Devil's hand and gave him the choice to kill the mobster or Frank, only for him to shoot his chain and beat Frank until he was unconscious. Still, he managed to kill Grotto and gain the attention of a bunch of bikers to distract the man in red before escaping.

"He shot the chain?" Ros asked, impressed. She slapped a bandage and some tape on a cut on his shoulder. He flinched, pressing his lips together as he glared at her. She ignored it. "At least one of you made a smart choice."

Frank huffed. "Grotto's dead," he reiterated. "The Irish are gonna be with him real soon. That's all that matters."

"You can't watch them die if you're dead yourself," Ros pointed out. "Thought you wanted to rest in peace." She held a bandage between her teeth as she applied butterfly stitches to his bicep.

"You want me to die that bad, huh?" He didn't sound offended, only amused.

"Nah," she spoke through the bandage. "Who else is gonna keep me company?"

Frank answered, "Red. He'll give you a lecture on morality, I bet."

Ros laughed. "Yeah, a real charmer." She took the bandage out of her mouth and began wrapping it around his arm. "Managed to get an appointment with the lawyers, by the way. Tomorrow, 10 a.m. sharp."

While Frank was going to sort their plans trapping the Irish, Ros was giving Nelson & Murdock a little visit. Under the rouse that her neighbour was being loud and threatening, she was going to find a way to break into their office after-hours to find anything she could about the Irish or Fisk. And to make sure their ties with Daredevil were not as significant as the media made out, as an after-thought.

"You sure you don't want me there?" Frank questioned.

"And have you shoot down the building?" Ros cocked an eyebrow, recalling their little hospital trip. "I'm good, man. You do your explosion thing."

He nodded, even if it looked like he didn't want her doing it alone.

With a smile, Ros clapped him softly on the back, making sure to avoid any injuries. "Get some sleep, it's gonna be a long day."

* * *

Ros didn't sleep at all that night, too tense at the thought of the Irish finding their hideout. Frank was passed out on the bed, on his front with his limbs splayed across the covers like a starfish. He hadn't shifted since he flopped down so she knew he was exhausted.

She ended up looking up Nelson & Murdock, finding articles and records on the lawyers. She couldn't help but respect them for their notoriety in defending the arguable scum of the earth, in the article's words, and all for free no less. She wondered what their deal was, how they got clients so regularly and managed to keep their business. A blind lawyer must be a good selling point, she supposed.

She didn't care much about the men themselves, but still couldn't help but read up on them. Matt Murdock and Franklin Nelson, best friends since college. Both fantastic lawyers from an non-bias standpoint if you ignored some of the people they defended, and they were dedicated to their work. If she was being honest, she was looking forward to meeting them.

Seeing it was turning 9 a.m. Ros moved to the bathroom to sort her shit out. Although far more put-together than Frank, to say she looked stunning would be an exaggeration. She was mildly fucked up; a graze on her temple and a healing black eye that now held a yellow tint. The cut on her upper lip was in the beginnings of healing, scabbed over but still at risk of splitting open and bleeding.

Make-up was easy enough to hide the bruise and the bust lip was small. Attention would only be drawn to it if it bled.

Dressing in a smart coat with a plain red shirt and jeans, she threw one last glance towards her sleeping friend as she slipped on some gloves. She quickly scrawled a note and placed it next to Frank's head.

_I'll be back for 12 - pls wash the clothes in the bath xx RW_

The walk to the office wasn't exciting. Typical bustling New York where cars honked every minute, and people walking with their heads lowered crashed into others, including Ros. Just as well as she could stand out in a crowd, Ros was a master at blending in. She had her hood thrown over her head as rain poured over the city and her gloved hands shoved in her pockets, shoulders hunched like she wanted to avoid any contact with everyone.

The building of Nelson & Murdock was... lacklustre, to say the least. Not that Ros was expecting a grand establishment, but she thought it would be more than a crumbling brick building with a dirty plaque stating their names and business.

**Nelson & Murdock**

**Attorney's at Law**

Ros pushed through the doors, wincing at the screeching of the hinges, and was met with a rather cosy waiting room. She would have assumed the building was empty if it wasn't for the quiet chattering of voices behind the doors on the other side of the room, presumably where their office was. A few cheap-looking paintings were hung on the walls to make the room seem less bland, along with a few decorative lamps. Although disorganised, it was a nice waiting room.

Before she could take a seat after her minor assessment, a pretty blonde woman walked through the doors.

"Good morning," she greeted with a kind, if a bit strained smile. She looked stressed. "You must be Rosario Walsh. Please, follow me." Ros removed her gloves and shoved them in her coat's inner pocket as the blonde opened the doors. "Matt - Mr. Murdock is running a bit late, so you'll be stuck with Mr. Nelson for the time being."

"Stuck?" the man sat on the edge of the desk protested. "I'll have you know I'm a delight to be around." His hair was longer than Ros', brushing his shoulders as he shook his head. Although slouched, Ros could tell that the man was a little shorter than present company. He turned to Ros with a charming smile. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Gordon."

The brunette flashed a grin. "Please, there's no need for formalities," she assured. "Just Rosalina is fine. Or Ros." Not her best alias, but she figured it'd be easier to stick closer to her real name.

"In that case, call me Foggy," he said. He turned to the pretty blonde. "That'll be all, Karen. Send Matt in when he's here."

With a single nod, Karen turned on her heel and left the room.

"Foggy, huh?" Ros asked when the door shut. "Interesting."

"Matt gave me the nickname in college," he clarified with a shrug. "I don't know where it came from but it stuck." Ros' eyebrows raised at that. They went to college together, huh. "But enough about me!" He clapped his hands together. "I hear we have a rude neighbour of yours to deal with."

Foggy took a seat and Ros did the same, taking off her coat before bringing a leg up to sling her arm around casually. Her eyes took in the room as she fed Foggy her fake story, curiosity masking her searching for anything that could be hidden. There were a lot of framed certificates and paintings to pretend to be fascinated by and Foggy even indulged her questions about their short career and achievements. The office window was facing the street, so there was no chance she could break in without being caught immediately.

"You know, attorney in Italian is _avvocato_ ," Ros told him after he explained the small drawing of avocados on the desk. "That's two entire languages. I say it's fate that you remake your plaque. Hell, I'll even pay for it."

"Maybe we'd get more clients that way," Foggy said. " _Avocados at Law: pay us in avocados_."

"The blind lawyer gimmick not working out for you?" she asked, trying not to seem too interested. Sure, it didn't affect her mission but the things she read up on them piqued her curiosity.

"Believe it or not, people get put off at the thought of having a blind guy defending them in court," Foggy told her.

Ros raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. "They sound like some real assholes."

"Yeah, well-" Foggy cut himself off, pausing to peer over Ros' shoulder. "Oh, looks like your blind, less-charming, less-stylish, more boring and ugly lawyer is-"

"I may be blind, but I'm not deaf," said lawyer walked in with an easy smile. "I'm sorry I'm late, I was caught up with..." Upon glancing in Ros' general direction, he froze. Even with the tinted glasses he wore, she could see that he was a handsome man. A little taller than her and well-built, he had on a dark grey suit with a purple tie. His hair looked like it was previously well-done but he must have been in a rut, looking like he spent the morning running his hands through the dark mass on his head.

But Ros didn't recognise him, nor did she know anything about him up until she moved to New York with Frank.

So why did he look like he ran into someone he really didn't want to?

"Sorry, uh." He looked stuck. "My apologies. I, um..."

"He had a late night," Foggy interjected, quick to make an excuse for his friend. He looked just as muddled as Ros felt. "We usually get a lot of clients in Spring."

"Paperwork, huh?" Ros asked the dark-haired lawyer. She knew they didn't get many clients.

"Yeah," he answered, edging towards the desk. He kept his focus on her. "Something like that." He stayed standing unlike Foggy, despite the man looking exhausted and there being a couple of spare chairs around the room. "May I ask what you do for a living... what was it, Miss Gordon?"

"Please call me Rosalina, Mr. Murdock," Ros said. "I do the odd job whenever I can. I'm a stocker, a bartender, even a dogwalker when I have the chance. It isn't much but it pays for my crappy apartment with an asshole neighbour."

"We just went through the details of her story," Foggy told him. "So, her neighbour-"

"I'd like to hear it from Miss Gordon," Matt interjected.

Foggy frowned. "I'm sure she doesn't want to repeat it a third time, Matt."

"I'd prefer to hear it from the source," he said. Judging by Foggy's confusion, this was out of character for the lawyer.

Ros raised a hand when Foggy tried speaking up again. "It's not a problem. Really," she assured with a smile. "My neighbour, Scott Graham _,_ likes to have the odd party here and there. The walls are thin, I told him to keep it down or I'd call the police, he threatened me and left a message on my door. Your partner has the image."

"It calls her a, um... an unattractive prostitute," Foggy clarified. "Without the curses. He's certainly creative."

"What was his name again?" Matt asked, not even inclining his head towards his partner.

Ros lowered her leg and leaned forward, elbows on her knees with a slight grin. "You think I'm lying, Mr. Murdock?" she asked.

"Of course not," Foggy attempted to save his ass again. A little quieter, he gritted through his teeth, "Right, Matt?"

The man was quiet for a couple of moments. "Right."

Ros' lips shaped into a full-blown grin. "His name is Scott Graham," she said. "He left me a note saying ' _If you call the police I'll make you regret it, ugly whore_ '. Would you like me to corroborate the handwriting? Or the type of paper?"

"There's no need for that, Rosalina." Foggy chuckled, a little nervously. "Would you like some tea?" he asked suddenly. "I could use some tea."

"That... sounds perfect," Ros said. "Sure."

"Good." Foggy nodded. "Tea, Matt? Come on, Matt, let's go get some tea for our client."

He clutched his friends' arm and dragged him out of the room before anyone could get a word in edgeways.

Ros took the minute or so of being alone to stand and survey the room. She walked around, lightly rapping her knuckles against the file cabinets to hear them clink hollowly - all empty. She paused by the last cabinet, reading the small print of the plaque above it that caught her attention. It was about Jack Murdock, the father of Matt. He was a rather famous boxer with the alias _Battlin' Jack Murdock_ that died during a mugging in 1995, it stated. His final fight was his best, apparently.

They returned not too later with a single mug of tea in Foggy's grasp. "Here you go," he said, handing it to her. "I see you're admiring our work," he noted.

Ros hummed, looking over her shoulder at Matt. "I just read about your father," she said. "He seemed like a great guy. I'm sorry he had to die like that, especially when you were so young."

Matt looked taken aback by her words. They were genuine. "Thank you."

"I lost my mom when I was young, too," she told him. He might soften up to her a little if she opened up some. "She was a waitress so she didn't do anything cool to warrant a plaque, though." She gently blew her tea and inhaled the sweet, somewhat musky aroma.

"I say anyone who works in customer service warrants some kind of reward," Foggy spoke up, earning a soft chuckle from Ros.

"You got that right," she said, taking a short sip of her drink. Sugar-y and sweet, just how she liked it. "Sorry - I didn't mean to be so morose. It caught my attention, is all."

"It's not a problem." Foggy smiled warmly, reassuringly. Matt, however, still seemed to hold the same distaste for her. Foggy was right when he said his partner was less charming, even if he said it in jest. "Sorry to hear about your mom. Mine died too, so looks like we're all a part of the dead parent club."

Ros laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Not the best place to make friends, but it's a great way to make a conversation awkward." She kept her gaze to Matt as she set her cup down on the final filing cabinet. There was a dull clink; the drawers were full. They didn't get much business, so it hopefully had what what Ros needed and not pointless babble.

"Jesus, what happened to your hands?" Foggy asked, eyebrows pulled together in concern.

Ros was quick to shrug it off. _Fucking dumbass took off her damn gloves._ "Found some coked-up dude when I was going up my fire escape. Tried taking my things."

"I hope you've seen someone like that," Foggy said. "It looks bad."

"You should see the other guy," Ros joked. _He was shot dead by my friend in front of Daredevil._ She turned her attention to a framed picture of their graduate certificates. "I see you went to Columbia University?" she continued, brushing off the attention on her hands. "Prestigious place. I know someone who applied and his ass got thrown to the dirt, and he was pretty smart. You must be damn good at your jobs."

"Good enough to put away Wilson Fisk," Matt spoke up, to her surprise. She could feel the blind man examining her, like he was searching for something.

Ros nodded in agreement. "Must be good enough to stop Scott Graham, then," she said.

They - well, _Foggy_ \- spoke about her case, him informing her that there wasn't much they could do other than advise her to call the police whenever she got a bad feeling. From a legal standpoint, they couldn't do anything unless he made good on his threat. Despite being blind, she could feel Matt's focus on her.

Part of Ros wished the case was real, that her biggest problem could be taken out with a swift hit to the face.

"Thank you for the advice, gentlemen," Ros said as she slid her arms through her coat's sleeves. "So, all I gotta do is keep the police on speed dial and call you if he successfully breaks into my apartment at 3 a.m. to beat the shit out of me. Easy enough."

"It's not much, but I'm glad we could be of help." She shook Foggy's hand, pulling away swiftly when the tips of his fingers brushed her cuts. "Call us if there's an update."

"You've got it," she said with a smile. "You'll be hearing from me soon, I bet. Here, let me take my cup out."

Matt stepped forward. "It's not a problem-"

"The kitchen is to the right as you step out," Foggy interjected, clapping Matt on the shoulder. "You can shove it on the side. I've got some... lawyer... _things_... to discuss with Matt."

Ros raised her eyebrows, glancing between the two as she picked up the mug. Trouble in paradise, it seemed. "Okay. It was nice meeting you."

Foggy's smile was too wide as she left the room, and she could assume Matt was going to get a lecture.

"I assume everything went okay?" Karen asked from behind her small reception desk.

"It went great, thank you," Ros responded with a smile. "I'm just gonna shove this in the kitchen."

The blonde returned the expression. "It's not a problem."

Ros pushed open the door of the kitchen. It was small and homely, with mugs and crumb-flaked plates littering the sink.

But that wasn't what interested her; there was a window facing the alleyway.

_Bingo._


	3. 3

Foggy turned on Matt as soon as the door shut behind Rosaria.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he near-yelled, hitting the man's upper arm. Matt winced, the bruises from the chains last night making their presence known. "Our first client in weeks - _weeks_ , Matt - and you're acting like a complete dick. Do you want to lose business, because I don't!"

"She's not Rosalina, Foggy," Matt told him, being sure to keep his voice low. He heard her go out of earshot to the kitchen like she said, but he didn't want to risk it. "That's _Sabre_ , that's the woman working with the Punisher." He inhaled deeply. "She was the one on the rooftop last night."

"What?" Foggy froze on the spot. "What- _that's_ Sabre?!" he exclaimed, eyes widening drastically. "But she's so... she's so..."

"Nice? Charming?" Matt scoffed. "She's a good actress, that's for sure."

"I was gonna say hot, but that too."

Matt scrunched his face. "Really, Foggy?"

"What?" He threw his hands up defensively. "That's why I was confused when you were being an ass! You always sense who the hot ones are."

Matt stared at him as incredulously as he could.

"Okay, so... what was she doing here?" Foggy's eyes, once again, bugged out of his head. "You don't think she knows about, um- our mutual friend, right?"

"No." Matt's head shook as he slumped down in a chair. "No. I don't think she does. She would've brought him up if she did to get a reaction. I..." he exhaled, "I think she's suspicious of us, though. She knows we're tied with Daredevil somehow; at the very least that we know more than we let on about the Kitchen Irish. More than the media, anyway."

"That's not good," Foggy said, pressing his lips together. "The closer she gets to this..." He didn't have to finish the thought. "You said before the Punisher and Sabre will do anything to get what they want. If she finds out your secret, it's mine and Karen's lives on the line. Not just yours, Matt."

"I know," Matt said quietly. He felt his heart clench at the thought and with the motion came the pain of cracked ribs. He held back a groan. "But I don't... I don't think they'll hurt you or Karen. As much as I disagree with them, they don't hurt innocents. Frank could've killed Karen in the hospital but he didn't."

"You have your superpowers, Matt, but can you really trust that?" Foggy asked. "They seem like the kind of people that change their minds on a dime. We don't know what to expect with them." He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Ugh. So, what do we actually know about the maniacs?"

"Next to nothing," Matt answered truthfully. "Their names are Rosaria and Frank. I'm guessing they used to serve together." He tapped his fingers against his cane. "They won't be too hard to look up now that we know at least a bit about them."

"We can send Karen an anonymous tip," Foggy suggested. "Once she finds out our client is Sabre, she'll tell us what she knows. Hopefully we'll get something other than first names and job descriptions."

"That's a good idea," Matt agreed, nodding. "Still, I have a feeling that even then there won't be much to go off. She made a comment last night, something about me being red in the face trying to figure them out."

"Matt," Foggy spoke, softer this time. He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "If we can take down Fisk, we can take down the Punisher and Sabre. Like you said, you had him on the ropes last night before you got distracted. If you can survive him shooting you in the head, you can beat him and some chick with swords."

His eyebrows pinched together. "There's something about her, Foggy."

"Um, listen Matt... I know things didn't work out with Claire, and she probably reminds you of _she-who-shall-not-be-named_ but going after the woman that may or may not want you dead maybe _isn't_ -"

"Not like that," the lawyer interrupted his friend with a shake of his head. "It's just... She seems more unhinged than Frank, but calmer. It's easy to predict him but I don't know why she's involved in all this."

"You don't know why Frank is, either," Foggy pointed out.

"It's personal for him," Matt explained. "He's emotional, impulsive. She's..." he struggled to find the right word for a moment, "detached. If it is personal for her, she's good at hiding it."

"No one goes on a murder spree without a real reason," Foggy said. "I guess we'll just have to find out her motive."

The man sighed. "I guess so."

* * *

Frank was cleaning his guns, sat on the desk with the TV muted when Ros returned. The news had found out about Grotto's death and were milking the hell out of it, discussing the police and Daredevil and the politics and implications and the two new vigilantes in town _blah blah blah_. The same old boring shit.

"The lawyer's are suspicious," was her greeting upon throwing her coat on the bed. Ever the military man, Frank made sure the room was as clean as a whistle. Or as clean as their little home could be, anyway. "Murdock was being a dick and it seemed out of character. Pretty sure Nelson yelled at him when I left."

"You get anything?" Frank asked, not bothering to turn and face her.

"A few locked cabinets, mostly full," she answered anyway. "If they are working with Devil, it won't take them long to figure out who I am. Found a window I can get through in the kitchen. I'm getting in, grabbing what I need and getting out tonight."

"Tonight?" The man turned around then. "Ros, we got plans tonight."

"And we can delay those plans by a day."

"We're not here to fuck around," he growled, pushing himself off the chair. It wobbled, almost tipping over but managed to stand upright.

"We're not here on a suicide mission, either," Ros argued. "Or to get thrown in prison. We need to be careful about this."

"Careful?" he repeated with a bitter laugh. "You call taking out the Dogs of Hell careful? Killing the big boss' son? Didn't realise you were so fucking adamant on being _careful_."

"Apparently I'm the only one that gives a shit what happens after we finish this," Ros argued, stepping closer to her partner. "You want your revenge and you're getting it. I've done everything you've asked and I've put my ass on the line becoming a one-woman firing squad to kill those damn Dogs of Hell, all for you. I'm asking for one fucking thing - one valid thing and that's to be careful."

Frank shook his head, curling his lip. "You knew what you signed up for."

"What? You gonna gaslight me now, Castle?" she scoffed. The two were standing close, eyes blazing and shoulders positioned like they were ready for a fight. "I'm not one of your soldiers. You're not ordering me around like that." She heaved a breath through her nose, forcing herself to relax. They couldn't fight, not with Frank's injuries and their mission. "All I'm asking is a day to make sure Daredevil doesn't fuck up our plans again. He kicked your ass and you need time to heal if you plan on being _tortured_ -"

"We can't delay this shit-"

"I'm sorry," Ros cut him off, raising her hand. "Was I finished talking?" He tightened his lips but didn't try to interrupt her. "You're forgetting who I am, Frank. I'm not Billy or Curt."

Frank's gaze softened somewhat, hunched shoulders lowering and his fists unclenching. "I know that," he said.

"I don't think you do, Frank." She shook her head. "I'm not some thing that's getting in your way. I know what the fuck I'm doing and I don't need you arguing with me every time we have to change our plans." Frank nodded minutely. Ros clenched her jaw, clasping his shoulder and shaking it slightly. "We're in this together, you fucking asshole. Yeah?"

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

"Good." Her lips tilted in a small, albeit strained, smile. "I'm gonna shower. Get some rest."

* * *

Despite Claire's protests, Matt went back out in the suit that night. His head still ached despite the medication the nurse gave him and he had to lie through his teeth to her. She seemed to sense that he wasn't being honest, but she let it go with a light reprimanding that if he got shot in the head again, he had to find another nurse.

He kept her partially informed on what was going on since she was suspicious of the rise in crime, and subsequent rise in patients, but she managed to figure out that the Punisher and Sabre were riling everybody up on her own. He didn't want her involved in his alter-ego, just like he didn't want Foggy to be, but he couldn't deny that it was a weight off his shoulders to be able to tell someone other than Father Lantom.

Matt, donned in his partially beaten suit, happened to cross a rooftop close to his law firm when he zoned in on his surroundings. Taxis, cars, the idle chatter of civilians, and then... a gentle clicking, coming from his work's building.

Hovering close to the edge of the adjacent building, he tuned in and heard feet shuffling on the fire escape and the clicking coming to a halt, before hands... muffled, though, like there was a barrier... _gloves?_ Gloved hands lifted the window.

He couldn't sense who it could be. Perhaps Sabre since she seemed interested in the layout of the inside, but he couldn't get a decent whiff of whoever it was because of the distinct smell of the city.

Leaping across a couple of rooftops, he found his way to the buildings attached until he was on top of Nelson & Murdock.

The smell... It was Rosaria. _Sabre_. Soft leather and cologne that smelled like rain; it stuck out to him. He would've assumed it was the Punisher's but he could sense it seeped into her clothes, all in different areas at different strengths like she applied it every day.

He listened, the noises inside easier to interpret since he was closer. She was picking the lock on one of their cabinets full of old case files, the one Matt knew contained information on John Healy and James Wesley.

His eyebrows pulled together. Why did she want those specific files? Was she looking for stuff on Fisk?

With light feet, he made his way down the fire escape until he was on her level. He kept his back pressed to the bricks and listened for a couple of minutes as she shuffled through the papers, putting them down and picking them back up. She was a fast reader, or maybe she was skimming.

Either way, her heart rate stayed eerily even.

She turned, creating a breeze around her.

"That you, Devil?"

Matt froze.

She chuckled breathily.

"Frank always tells me I have a good sense for my surroundings," she said, her voice not quite a whisper but still quiet. "I guess we're similar in that way. Though I can't attest to your super-senses, I can make a guess."

A pause.

Matt turned the corner and stepped through the window, his hands hovering by his batons. Her breathing was even and heart-rate calm, but he couldn't predict her.

"You're looking better," Ros commented. She shifted. Crossed her arms over her chest, it sounded like. "Not enough time to fix up your mask, I see. Yeah, bet your head is killing you. I doubt even Frank would be able to get up after that." She laughed quietly to herself, like she was telling a joke he wasn't in on.

"Why are you here?" Matt asked.

She uncrossed her arms, turning to finger through the files on the cabinet. "John Healy," she read. "Assassin hired by Fisk to kill some mobster asshole so they can take over Russian territory." She paused, glancing over her shoulder to cock an eyebrow at the still man. "Says here," she raised and tapped the page, "that you killed him. What happened to your moral high ground, Devil?"

"I didn't kill him," he said. "He killed _himself_."

"He rammed his head in a metal pipe?"

"He betrayed Wilson Fisk," Matt countered, jaw ticking in agitation. "Everyone in New York knows anything is better than what he'd do to those who betrayed him."

Ros hummed. "Guess so." She put down the papers. "I do find it odd that - well, I'm still only making assumptions, but you're working with Nelson and Murdock, right?"

She must have noticed Matt tense because she chuckled.

She shook her head with a _tsk_. "C'mon, Devil... How stupid do you think I am? Every big case they've done, it's been tied closely to you." Matt tensed when she raised her hand, but she only ran a hand through her hair. He never took notice of the length, but by the way her fingers quickly met air, it was cut short. Practical. "Am I wrong?"

"Fisk was everyone's enemy by that point," Matt explained vaguely. "It made sense for the both of us to work together and it worked out."

"Let me guess, you _still_ help each other out? You go out and catch criminals while the laywers make sure they stand behind bars?"

Matt didn't bother arguing against it. It was better for her to think they were in a partnership and distract from his identity. "Will you hurt them?" he asked.

"Of course not, Devil. Not unless they deserve it." Ros chuckled. "I do like Nelson, though. _Foggy_. I'd let him off, should he try and get in my way." Her steady heart signalling truth surprised Matt, and he must've broadcasted the emotion on his expression as the woman sighed. It sounded more disappointed than annoyed. "I'm not a psychopath, neither is Frank. I can tell Nelson's a good man, even if he is a defence lawyer."

The words both eased Matt and made him tense. He didn't trust the attention she was paying to his friend.

"What about his partner? What about Murdock?" he couldn't help but ask.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Trying to stall me, Devil? Getting me to analyse your buddies."

"I don't think anybody could stall you if they tried," Matt said truthfully. "You're... _perceptive_."

Ros actually laughed at that. "Guess that's something we can agree on."

"They can help you," he tried. "Murdock and Nelson - if you turn yourselves in now, you'll-"

"Get a lighter punishment?" Ros suggested. "Won't get the death penalty?"

"The death penalty is illegal. You'll be put in jail."

She laughed, this time sounding bitter. She was irritated. "If the prisoners don't kill us, then the guards will. If you don't think they're corrupt, then I overestimated you, Devil."

"They can get you put in confinement - _both_ of you," he argued. "On witness protection for the things you know and jailed in another state. It's better than the alternative- better than being captured later and tortured. You were both soldiers. The state will let the government do whatever they want to you, just to find out why you're doing this."

"You really think they're not gonna do that regardless?" Ros asked. "That there won't be tip-offs and bribing by powerful gangs, by Finn fucking Cooley after killing his son? Even without the government digging their fingers in?"

"If you turn yourself in sooner-"

"Tell me, Devil, would you rather be locked up for the rest of your life with these pieces of shit on the outside, or take rightful revenge for those who've hurt the ones you loved?"

That gave Matt pause. So that was her motive.

"If you tell us who you're after, we can punish them justly. It shouldn't be about revenge."

Matt could hear the woman's heart physically slow down in realisation. "You've had your chance, then? Someone hurt you?"

He nodded, thinking of the poster just a couple meters to her left. _Jack Murdock_. The same one she took note of earlier. "A long time ago," he said. "He killed someone I loved and he was right _there_ , right in front of me. I hurt him, and..." _Elektra wanted me to kill him_ , "and I didn't. I let the police take him instead. It was one of the best decisions of my life and I don't regret it. I never have."

Ros hummed a short laugh, taking a moment to stare at him, or at least he presumed so. She didn't move, barely even twitched. For a second, Matt thought he actually got through to her.

"I guess that's where we differ, Daredevil," she said quietly, her fingers resting over the hilt of her blades.

"Are you going to attack me?"

"That depends if you let me leave."

He shook his head. "You know I can't do that."

"Then that leaves us at an impasse."

Matt felt the air shift before she threw the blade, and he dodged in time so it only grazed his arm, cutting into his suit. She used the distraction to kick the desk towards him and he stumbled as it slammed against his thighs, almost knocking him into the wall.

The mismatched noises of the computer, pens, mugs, and files falling to the ground scraped through his eardrums and he winced as his head pounded. He came back to himself when Ros leaped over the table to kick him, managing to block her leg from hitting his neck. He trapped it in the crook of his elbow, spinning her around so he could slam her into the wall behind him.

She grunted as the back of her head hit the wall and Matt panted, no doubt looking worse for wear. Far worse than her.

Her other leg hooked behind his and pulled hard until he collapsed, using his arms to break the fall. Her elbow met his head and he crumbled to the ground with a pained shout, the energy to fight back diminishing as she pinned him to the floor with her knees pinning his wrists, her hips hovering over his heaving chest.

"You need to pick your battles, big guy," she said, a little out of breath. "You just got shot in the head, after all."

Matt tried lifting his arms, shifting them side to side, but the weight only got heavier. He tried kicking out his legs, but she barely shifted.

"I beat Frank in fights, you know that?" she told him. "I don't know why the fuck you won't give this up, but I don't care. I don't want to kill you, believe it or not." Matt still struggled, to which she leant down, placing her forearm on his throat. Not hard enough to hurt, but it sent the message. "Stay on your side of the city, alright?"

"You won't get away with this," Matt hissed. "They'll know your name, Rosaria."

"I guess we'll see."

She sat up and there was another sharp pain before the world went black.


End file.
